


Someone's Watching

by spowell Count Dracula series (SPowell)



Series: Count Dracula [25]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Choking, Degradation, F/F, F/M, Humilation, M/M, Mind Control, Minor Character Death, Multi, Vampires, blood-lust, blood-sucking, dark!fic, dub-con, enslavement, evil!Merlin, non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 18:23:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2783093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SPowell/pseuds/spowell%20Count%20Dracula%20series
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur feels that he's being watched. Elyan is hungry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Someone's Watching

**Author's Note:**

> I do appreciate those who give this story a try and realize you can't continue. Totally understandable. Please check the tags and keep in mind that the nature of Dracula is not to be fair or particularly loving and kind. Hence the tag evil!Merlin. To those who do enjoy it and understand that humiliation, etc., are a part of the vampire theme here, thank you for your comments and continued support, and I'm happy you're enjoying it. <3
> 
> This entry was a bit rushed. I hope it reads all right. Today will be very busy for me, and I may not get to look at it again until tomorrow.

Arthur could not shake the feeling that he was being watched.

As always when out of the Count’s presence and away from Carfax Manor, Arthur felt slightly clearer in the head with the difference that, even more than before, he longed to get back to the sprawling mansion and all that awaited him there. Something in Arthur wanted to be in the Count’s arms, no matter the degradation he’d suffered at the Count’s hands. Arthur somehow felt more loved and accepted than he ever had in his life when in Dracula’s presence, and he couldn’t begin to understand the complexity of it. But on this day, added to all that, was the spine-tingling suspicion that someone had their eyes on him.

That morning, Arthur had been to his place of employment and left a letter of resignation for Mister Chandler, who was still in Paris. He’d then gone to another solicitor and set about putting both his townhouse and Gwendolyn’s up for sale. He arranged for all of their things to go into storage, and made necessary adjustments to his bank accounts so that he would need to be physically present to control his finances as little as possible.

All the while, Arthur continued to look over his shoulder, feeling as though he just missed seeing someone dart about the corner and out of sight.

His dealings took the better part of the day, as Arthur felt it prudent to stop to chat with a few acquaintances, making up lies about he and Gwendolyn parting ways and she heading for Milan to live with a Great Aunt.

The sun was low in the sky when the carriage pulled up to Carfax Manor, and Arthur was exhausted, not having slept in twenty-four hours. On impulse, he asked the Count’s driver, Fiverton, if he’d seen anyone lurking about.

“Funny you should ask, Sir,” the driver said, rubbing at his red nose—Arthur suspected it was more red from imbibing from the flask hidden in his coat than from the cold November day---“I did see the same two blokes hanging around outside your business and the bank when you went there.”

Both dismayed at being followed and glad to find he wasn’t completely mad, Arthur leaned forward. “What did they look like?”

“Just average, Sir. Nothing in particular. But I did find it strange.”

“Thank you, Fiverton.” Arthur headed for the house, unsure what it all could mean.

It was blessedly warm inside in comparison to out, and Arthur shed his coat and hat, placing them on the hall tree. It smelled as though something delicious were cooking, and Arthur’s stomach grumbled. There was at least an hour to sunset, and Arthur wondered if he could awaken the Count now with a few well-placed kisses.

“Arthur…” Hearing the familiar voice had the effect of spinning Arthur about on his heels. Elyan stood in the doorway to the library. He looked much changed—ethereally different, his normally creamy dark skin having a glow to it that almost seemed to lighten the dark corner nearest him.

“Elyan.” Arthur stood surveying him. “Are you all right?”

Elyan nodded, but although he was dressed and calm enough, there was the unmistakable aura of hunger about him.

“I was just about to go upstairs,” Arthur said. “Can I get you anything before I do?”

“I—I just wanted a word with you. Things are so different now.” For a moment, Elyan looked inexplicably young and confused, and Arthur’s heart went out to him. Elyan was barely nineteen, after all, and had found himself in the most unexpected and horrifying of situations.

“Of course,” Arthur relaxed a bit, the tension at the unexpected encounter slowly easing from his body.

“In the library? There’s a warm fire.” Elyan stood aside, and with only a second of hesitation, Arthur nodded and passed him.

The library indeed had a roaring fire, as well as a tea service set out on the round table.

“Were you expecting someone?” Arthur asked.

“I only hoped you’d come,” Elyan said, eyes roaming over Arthur as he eased into a chair and poured Arthur a cup of tea.

“Do you know where you are…what you are?” Arthur asked presently when the minutes ticked by on the mantle clock.

“I am one of the undead,” Elyan replied calmly. Too calmly. Arthur looked up from his cup. Elyan had leaned forward—quiet close. “But you are not.”

“No.” Arthur hesitated. “I don’t know what I am.”

“You smell wonderful,” Elyan said.

Arthur leaned back, away from the other man’s sniffing nose and intense gaze. The tea service rattled as Elyan jostled it with his leg.

“I only want a taste, Arthur,” Elyan said softly. “Don’t be afraid.”

“Elyan, stop!” Arthur ordered with as much bravado as he could muster, and Elyan paused in his crawl across the tea table.

“Did you know that my sister’s here?” Elyan asked, tilting his head, dark eyes abnormally bright. Arthur could see the pulse pounding in Elyan’s throat. His lips were very pale.

“Yes.”

“How came she to be here?”

“I—she came of her own accord. I begged her to go, but she would not.”

“Stubborn,” Elyan said. “She’s always been stubborn.”

And then the tea service was scattered on the floor and Elyan had Arthur in a grip Arthur could not for the life of him loosen.

“Just a taste, Arthur. You smell so sweet, and I’m so hungry…”

Arthur sank deeper into the cushions of the chair, slithering downward, trying to slip out from under Elyan’s weight, but Elyan held Arthur’s neck between his hands and clutched him about the middle with thighs that seemed made of steel.

“Just one taste, Arthur. It won’t hurt a bit---well, maybe it will, but after that you won’t mind it at all; I promise you.”

Arthur pushed at Elyan, but the young man, always well-muscled from his work on ship decks, had become abnormally strong. He held Arthur fast, wiggling down to put his nose to Arthur’s neck and sniff below the collar. The bite marks there burned in reaction, and Arthur’s heartbeat tripled in his chest. Every touch of Elyan’s hands and body on Arthur hurt him. He wanted the man _off._

Clenching his teeth, Arthur pushed and twisted, but to no avail. He felt Elyan’s tongue skim over the tendon in his neck, and then again, more forcefully.

“Stop—“Arthur tried to maneuver his knee to hit Elyan’s groin, but he was too close.

Arthur’s arms burned, both from Elyan’s touch and the bruises that were undoubtedly blooming there from the hold the man had on him.

“One taste,” Elyan said again, and Arthur somehow sensed the lowering of the fangs. Arthur’s scrambling hands hit his broken tea cup, slitting the skin, and Elyan growled, eyes flashing red and mouth opening wide. Arthur cringed backward, hunching up his shoulders to cover his neck.

Suddenly, Elyan was ripped from Arthur’s body, and it took several seconds for Arthur to digest what had happened. By that time, Gwaine and Cenred had placed themselves firmly in front of Arthur where he lay in a heap on the carpet, blocking his line of vision. Arthur heard growling and managed to peer around Gwaine’s leg enough to see Dracula with a one-handed hold on Elyan’s neck—hoisting the young man high against the wall. Arthur marveled at the strength it must have taken to do so.

Arthur watched in horrified fascination as Elyan squirmed, dancing in the air like a puppet. There was the sharp crack of Elyan’s neck snapping, but still Elyan stared with terrified eyes, tongue hanging crudely from his drooling mouth, growls of hunger coming from deep in his chest as Dracula continued to hold him captive.

Dracula held out his free hand, and Cenred threw something to him. It was wooden and pointed, and the Count pointed the sharp end to Elyan’s chest.

“No one touches what is mine,” Arthur heard him say just before driving the stake into Elyan’s heart.

Arthur closed his eyes, falling back onto the floor and curling into a ball.

He didn’t know how long it was until he became aware of the soft stroking of fingers through his hair and gentle sucking on his cut finger.

“A mea, my Dove, my own. Did he hurt you?”

At the sound of his lover’s voice, Arthur trembled all over . Slowly, like a flower exposed to the sun, he unfurled and fell into the Count’s waiting arms.


End file.
